


Present Tense

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Series: The Lynda Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-20
Updated: 1999-02-20
Packaged: 2018-11-10 23:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11136903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray and Lynda get roped into a case invloving the Canadian Mob. This story is a sequel toAll In A Month's Work.





	Present Tense

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Present Tense 

by Jackie 

pixie7@gte.net   
  


"Fraser, can you read me?" 

"Loud and clear, Lynda." 

"Isn't this neat?" 

"It is rather exceptional. You have done a fine work on this." 

"Thank you. This is so cool. It's like you're standing beside me." 

"What the hell is going on?" 

Lynda knitted her eyebrows. "Ray?" 

"Yeah?" 

"How is it that I can hear you?" 

"Lynda is there a problem?" Fraser asked. 

"I'm hearing Ray." 

Fraser chuckled softly. "Lynda, look toward your right." 

Lynda looked to her right and saw that Ray was standing next to her. She smiled sheepishly. "Hi, Ray." 

"Morning, Lynda," the Italian greeted her. "What are you and Fraser up to?" 

"Oh, let me show you." She brought her left wrist up close to her mouth and to Ray's surprise, began speaking into her wristwatch. "Fraser, come on back." Then she took off her watch and pulled a small, clear object out of her ear as Fraser and Dief walked up to her desk. 

"What is that?" Ray asked. 

"It's a multiple-way communicating device of mine," Lynda answered proudly. "Sort of like walkie talkies, but smaller." 

"You made that?" Ray asked incredulously. "When?" 

"A couple years ago. But I just recently came across it in some boxes I thought were empty, so I decided to see if it still works." 

"And Fraser's a guinea pig?" 

"One of them, anyway." Lynda reached into her middle desk drawer and pulled out a similar wristwatch and earpiece and handed them to Ray. "Here you go." 

"How does it work?" Ray eyed the miniature device with suspicion. 

"Just slip that earpiece into your ear, and put the wristwatch on your wrist." Ray followed Lynda's instructions. "Now, in order for you to be able to communicate with, say Fraser and myself, you'd have to find the frequency we're using. That's where the wristwatch comes in. You locate the frequency with that tiny knob on the side of the watch. The one that Fraser and I are on is 13.9 megahertz." 

Ray turned the knob until he was at the right frequency. "Okay, now what?" 

"Well, just like a walkie talkie, you press that tiny red button there and then talk into the center part of the watch," Lynda explained. "There a tiny microphone underneath the face. Fraser, come on, let's go to different areas of the Squad Room and see how three-way goes, okay?" 

Fraser and Lynda left Ray and headed off to separate areas of the large Squad Room. Lynda stood next to Huey and Dewy, who were arguing about a case and oblivious to everything around them, and put her earpiece and watch back on. Fraser went over to the entrance to the lounge, where two female officers were conversing loudly. He didn't notice Dief as the wolf nonchalantly grabbed a donut off of one of the officer's plates and began eating it. 

"Ray, can you hear me?" 

Ray was startled by the clarity of Lynda's voice. It was crisp and clear, like she was standing right next to him, not ten yards away. He brought the watch next to his mouth. "Yeah, I hear you, Lynda. Loud and clear. Fraser?" 

"I hear you just fine, Ray." 

"This is totally amazing, Lynda. How did you come up with this?" 

"I'm a die-hard James Bond fan," Lynda admitted. "I just elaborated on the design of the communicating devices used in the movies." 

"Hey, listen, you haven't seen your father, have you? I need to talk to him about a suspect." 

Lynda looked around. "He was here a minute ago." 

Ray sighed. "Great. I better go and find him." 

"Wait, I have a better idea," Lynda hurried over to her friend. "Another interesting feature about this communication system is that it has a built-in tracking device." She pointed to a three-inch, metallic satellite that was suctioned on the top part of her computer. "That mini satellite can pick up the electronic wavelengths that are transmitted from the wristwatches." 

"Is your dad wearing one of these?" Ray asked. 

"Yeah, I gave him one earlier when he showed up" Lynda replied. She typed some codes on her keyboard, bringing up a blueprint of the precinct. A small dot pulsated on the screen. "If the telemetry's set correctly, then we should find Dad in the morgue." 

Fraser and Dief - who had finished his prize and was licking his lips - joined Ray and Lynda as they made their way down to the morgue. There they found Mort doing the autopsy of a middle-aged man. He was humming Liebestraum as he probed and prodded. Stanley, as usual, had his back turned to Mort, his face a sickly green. 

"You okay?" Lynda asked her father. 

"Fine, I guess," Stanley answered. 

"Why are you down here, Dad? You know how sick you get." 

"Believe me, Lynda, I wasn't planning on it. But while you and Fraser were fiddling with that communicating device of yours, Welsh wanted me to investigate that death of this John Doe. Any luck, Mort?" 

"None yet, Ray," the mortician answered. "Oh, excuse me - Stanley. I'm still not used to zee fact zat you're not Ray anymore." 

"Mort, you're really taking this whole thing quite well," Lynda said. "You know, we didn't want to lie to you about who Dad really was, but the fewer who knew, the better. For both Dad and Ray." 

"Oh, Lynda, no need to apologize. I understand." Mort smiled. "Besides, I knew already zat you two were father and daughter." 

"How?" Stanley whirled around. 

"Simple. Zee way you two acted around each other. You tried to maintain a certain distance from each other, but I saw zrough it." 

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Lynda asked. 

"Oh, I knew zere must be a good reason why you acted zat way, and zere was." Mort went back to work on the body. 

Lynda looked at her father and smiled as he turned his back toward Mort again. "So, how was this John Doe killed?" 

"He was beaten, Lynda. Tortured." 

"How do you know that?" Ray asked. 

"Well, by zee fact that his toenails were ripped out and he had cigarette burn marks on his palms and the soles of his feet. Also, by what was found in his blood." Mort picked up a nearby sheet of paper and read it. "I found high traces of sodium Pentothal." 

"Truth serum?" Lynda wrinkled her eyebrows. 

"So, whoever killed this guy wanted information, right?" Ray deduced. 

"Most likely, Ray," Fraser answered. 

"And there was no identification?" Ray asked. 

"None," Mort replied, "but his face is still in one piece if you want to look at it." 

"I'll pass," Stanley said weakly. 

"Wimp," Lynda rolled her eyes as she went over to Mort. He pulled back the sheet covering John Doe's face. Lynda gasped loudly. 

"Lynda, what is it?" Stanley asked. 

"Ray, you might want to come here," she answered without looking up. 

Ray walked over and looked at the face. "Agent Grimes," he said. 

"You know him?" Mort asked. 

"I'll say we do," Lynda answered. "When I went with Welsh to help with Ray's case a 

couple months ago, Agent Grimes was one of the ATF agents who was also working on the case." 

"Who else was there?" Fraser asked. 

"Agent Thadius Hobbes, Agent Harry Thyme were the other ATF agents, and Agent Kyle Allen and Agent Michael Jasper were from the FBI," Ray replied. 

"But why would someone torture him?" Lynda asked. 

"Lynda, he was an ATF agent," Stanley explained. "He probably just made someone upset and they bumped him off." 

"But whoever did had to know that Grimes had top-secret information," Lynda protested. "Someone who knew that the only way to get that information was to use sodium Pentothal. Grimes, if I remember correctly, was not someone who would just give out information." 

"Lynda does have a point, Stanley," Fraser intervened. 

"Regardless," Ray spoke up, "we're gonna have to go to check it out. Just as soon as we find out where the ATF is located." 

"Since it's a federal group, Ray, it's probably going to be at the E.M. Dirksen Federal Office Building. The address is 219 South Dearborn Street." 

"How did you know that?" Stanley asked. 

"Remember, Derek used to be my boyfriend. He's an FBI agent, and the Chicago Headquarters are in Room 905 of the Dirksen Federal Building. Keep me informed, okay?" 

"You're not coming?" Ray asked. 

Lynda shook her head. "No, I'd better not. I don't want to take the chance of running into Derek. It's still too early for me to see him." 

"Lynda, I know how you feel," Fraser said gently, "but since you worked with Grimes during Ray's case, both you and Ray should be there in case any questions are asked." Lynda hesitated. "Besides, the Dirksen Federal Building is rather large. It's very unlikely that you'll see 

Derek." 

"Fine," Lynda replied. "Let's go." 

The four humans and Dief left Mort to finish up the autopsy on the former ATF agent.   
  


* * * *

Fraser, Ray, Stanley and Lynda walked into the lobby of the Dirksen Building and approached the front desk. 

"May I help you?" an attractive brunette asked, batting her eyelashes at Fraser. 

"Depends," Ray smiled slyly, oblivious to what the brunette was eyeing Fraser. Even Stanley was flirting with the brunette. 

Lynda rolled her eyes. The woman didn't appear to be five years older than she was. "Men," she whispered to herself. She cleared her throat loudly. "Yes, we're from the 27th District Police. We're investigating something the ATF might be interested in and we're not sure what floor the ATF is located on." 

"It's on the eleventh floor," the brunette answered. "Room 1121." 

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Fraser nodded and smiled. 

"Anytime," the brunette sighed dreamily. 

Lynda had enough. She herded her father and friends away toward the elevators. 

"She likes me," Ray smirked. "Did you see the way she was looking at me?" 

"You?" Stanley scoffed as he pressed the 'up' elevator button. "She was doing that to me." 

"Oh, grow up both of you," Lynda said disgustedly. "She was barely older than me." 

The elevator doors opened and, to the surprise of Lynda, Derek stepped out in front of her. "Derek?" Lynda squeaked. 

Derek smiled. "Hello, Lynda." He noticed Fraser and Stanley. "Fraser. Detective Kowalski." 

"This is Derek?" Ray asked. 

"And you are?" Derek offered his hand. 

"Ray Vecchio," Ray frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "The *real* Ray Vecchio. I'm a good friend of Lynda's." 

"I can see that," Derek answered. He noticed the evil-eye that Stanley was giving him as he stood protectively next to his daughter. "So, Lynda, what brings you down here?" 

"Official business," Lynda answered as she brushed by her ex-boyfriend and got on the elevator. The others joined her. Stanley quickly pressed the eleventh button, closing the doors. 

Lynda stood with her arms crossed, staring at the ground. "'Besides, the Dirksen Federal Building is rather large. It's very unlikely that you'll see Derek.'" She looked angrily at Fraser. 

"Now, Lynda, it was just a coincidence," Fraser replied. 

"I never should have come." 

"He must have really hurt you, huh, Lynda?" 

"You have no idea, Ray." 

The rest of the trip up was silent.   
  


* * * *

"Agent Hobbes will see you now," a secretary waved the foursome into Hobbes' 

office. 

They walked in together and were greeted by, not only Hobbes, but Agent Thyme and Agent Jasper as well. The three were talking among themselves, but stopped when the foursome entered. 

"Detective Vecchio, Lynda, good to see you again," Jasper greeted. "And who are your fellow compatriots?" 

"This is Stanley Kowalski, Lynda's father, and -" 

"Constable Fraser," Hobbes interrupted. "Yes, I remember hearing a lot about you, from both Lynda and Vecchio. You are quite an exceptional person. I only wish half my ATF agents were as good as you. Then, maybe I could actually get some cases done." 

"Har, har, har, Tad," Thyme rolled his eyes. 

Hobbes chuckled. "So, what brings you four down here?" 

"Official capacity," Stanley answered. "One of your agents was found murdered in an alleyway near Grant Park this morning." 

"Agent Grimes?" 

"What are you, a mind reader?" Ray asked. 

"Not quite, Detective," Hobbes answered. "We knew Grimes had been found dead this morning after Detective Kowalski radioed it in. How was he killed?" 

"Tortured," Fraser answered. "He also was found to have a high level of sodium Pentothal in his blood." 

"Matches the other victim," Jasper murmured. 

"What other victim?" Stanley asked. 

"Well, at about three o'clock this morning, Agent Allen was found floating in Lake Michigan near Navy Pier. His autopsy revealed similarities between the two deaths. Both were tortured, then given a high dose of truth serum, then left to die." 

"Any leads you can give us?" Ray asked. "Any reason why these two men were killed?" 

"None yet," Hobbes replied quickly. 

"Oh, please!" Lynda blurted out. 

"Something on your mind, Peterson?" Thyme asked angrily. 

"Two things, actually," Lynda replied coldly. "Number one, my last name is now Kowalski, okay? Number two, why don't you tell them what they have in common, Hobbes?" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Then let me refresh your memory: two men who worked on the same case are found dead within twelve hours of each other. Coincidence? I think not." 

"What are you saying, Lynda?" Stanley asked. 

"I think I know," Fraser spoke up. "Lynda believes that someone is killing the agents associated with Ray's former case." 

"Lynda's very perceptive," Jasper replied. "Actually, we believe that as well." 

"Then why lie to us?" Lynda frowned. 

"What we tell you is our business," Thyme said. "And since when did Civilian Aids 

investigate homicides?" 

Lynda glared at Thyme. Her lips paled as they lay in a straight line. Slowly, she clenched 

her fists as she started over toward Thyme. Before anything could happen, Fraser grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. 

"Any suspects?" he asked. 

"We're thinking the mob Detective Vecchio associated with as Armando Langostini, Constable," Jasper answered. "Someone on the inside must have leaked information, and the mob decided to eliminate all those associated with the case, starting with the FBI and ATF." 

"Then," Lynda knitted her eyebrows as she calmed down, "that means they'll try coming after Ray, Welsh . . . and me as well, right?" 

"We can't rule out that possibility," Hobbes nodded. "Look, we'll do everything in our power to apprehend these people. Meanwhile, try to be patient and don't do anything irrational." 

"I don't believe what I just heard," Lynda smiled sardonically. "How ironic that the ATF is talking to us about patience and acting rationally when they're the ones who brought us the Waco incident." 

"Oooh, that was below the belt," Stanley smiled. 

"Lynda, was that really called for?" Fraser asked. 

"Sorry," the young woman replied, not sounding the least bit apologetic. 

"What is your deal?" Hobbes asked angrily. "You were more well behaved a couple months ago." 

"A lot has changed since then," Lynda retorted. "And because of my last 'run-in' with the FBI, I don't like, nor trust *any* federal agency." 

"What's she talking about?" Thyme asked. 

"I remember," Jasper spoke up. "Lynda found out the truth about another FBI Agent - Agent Laramie - and overreacted, just like a dame." 

"Did you just call my daughter a dame?" Stanley frowned. 

Jasper bent down until he was eye level with the young Civilian Aid. "You know, the FBI was willing to overlook the little gift you gave us on the rogue disk. They also decided that it wasn't worth chasing after you again, and have temporarily closed your case." 

"Your point?" Lynda folded her arms across her chest and stood tall. 

"My point, is that if you don't watch it, I'll nail your butt against the wall with so many federal charges that it'll make your head swim. Grow up, and stop acting like a baby." 

Stanley stepped in front of his daughter. "Look, you may be the FBI, but no one talks to my daughter that way. You got that?" 

"Your out of line, Detective." 

"No, you are." Stanley pointed a finger in Jasper's chest. "My daughter really cared about Derek, okay?" Lynda and Fraser looked at each other, surprised. This was the first time Stanley had defended Derek, as well as Lynda, this way. 

"Look, you're breaking my heart," Hobbes replied sarcastically. "I really don't give a warm bucket of spit about what happened between Lynda and Agent Laramie, okay? From this point on, this case is going to be headed up by my agents." 

"Not when it involves my daughter," Stanley said through clenched teeth. He turned and abruptly left the office. 

"Ditto," Ray said before following his partner. 

Lynda and Fraser were the last to leave. On the way out, Lynda bumped into Derek, who had come in with some case files. Without even looking at him, Lynda marched angrily after her father. Fraser nodded politely and followed Lynda. Derek, eyebrows raised, deposited the files in Hobbes' office, then left without asking questions. He knew that something had happened in that office, but he also knew better than to open his mouth, seeing how he was still the new kid in the building. Besides, he knew sooner or later, he'd find out anyway.   
  
  
  


* * * *

"So, now what?" Ray asked. He, along with Lynda, Stanley, Fraser, and Dief, were gathered around Lynda's desk back at the Station. The gentlemen were talking while Lynda typed on her computer. 

"Well, it's obvious, Ray," Stanley said. "We need to catch these guys before any more people die, especially three certain people that jump into my mind." 

"So, Lynda, what was that 'gift' that you gave the FBI?" Ray asked. 

"A computer virus," the young woman answered. "Sabotaged their computer system." 

"And you didn't get arrested or anything?" 

"No, Ray. Apparently, they didn't want to admit they overlooked a simple virus before 

uploading it into their system. The media would have had a field day if that got out." 

"Pretty slick, Lynda. I think I'm going to like working with you." 

"Ray, don't encourage her," Fraser shook his head. "Besides, we have other matters to 

attend to. You knew the mob better than any of us. What were they like?" 

"Well, the people I worked with were like dumb, erratic ox, Fraser. They only did what I told them to do." 

"Which is why I don't believe it's the mob who's killing everyone," Lynda spoke up. 

"Why not?" Stanley asked. 

"Like Ray said: his people were followers. I don't think people like that could devise and carry out the murders, considering all the planning that had to go in them. I'm thinking the FBI and ATF lied to us." 

"Lynda," Stanley replied wearily as he ran a hand through his hair, "listen, just because you don't like these people it doesn't mean they're killers." 

"Harrison was," the young Civilian Aid answered wryly. "Remember? And I'm not 

saying it's the FBI or the ATF." Lynda turned around in her chair to face the three gentlemen. "What I'm saying is that maybe the information was never leaked out. I'm thinking that someone on the inside is killing everyone off. The security was too tight on that case to have any leaks." 

"That is so stupid," Ray rolled his eyes. 

"Watch it, Ray." 

"Sorry, Stanley, but it sounds too cooky. Besides, who do you think's doing it and why, Lynda?" 

"Well . . . I have been compiling a list of all the people who worked on the case." Lynda turned around and faced her computer. On the screen was the list of names. "Everyone who had even a remote part in the case is listed as a suspect." 

"Except for you, Ray, and Welsh," Stanley spoke up. 

"Of course. Now, we have Judge Mary Stevens; the defense team, Kyle Lambert and Harry Doyle; the prosecution, Julie Wendell and George Dye; FBI Agents Kyle Allen and Michael Jasper; ATF Agents Thadius Hobbes, Harry Thyme, and Bill Grimes; Lieutenant Welsh, Ray, and myself; the court reporter, Ginger Steins; and the bailiff, William Cunningham. Now obviously, we can get rid of Grimes and Allen, seeing how they're dead, and Ray, Welsh, and myself, so, that leaves us with . . . ten suspects." 

"Oh, that ought to be easy," Ray rolled his eyes. 

"Relax, will you, Ray? Listen, if the four of us work together, and we get Huey, Dewy, Welsh, and some others involved, we'll each take one person. We can follow them around and -" 

"Whoa, hold on a second," Stanley held up a hand. "Under normal circumstances, I'd be tempted to say yes, Lynda, but someone is trying to kill you, Ray, and Welsh. I don't think it would be wise to have you three gallivanting around Chicago by yourselves. You especially." 

"Aw, Dad, I'm nineteen years old." 

"Lynda, I have to agree with your father," Fraser said. "We don't need to be taking any unnecessary chances right now." 

Lynda sighed and grumbled. "Fine. I'll go with Dad, then." 

"And Ray and I will go together," Fraser nodded. 

"Let's go talk to Welsh." 

"No need to, Lynda," Welsh spoke as he walked up to Lynda's desk. "I just got off the phone with Agents Hobbes and Jasper. They've ordered you off the case, Detectives." 

"Sir, look, Lynda is involved, and I'm not -" 

"Save it, Kowalski. I understand she's your daughter, and as her father you feel it's your duty to protect her, but, officially, you are off the case." 

"And unofficially?" Ray asked. 

Welsh smiled. "Everyone needs a hobby." Stanley and Ray grinned. "Lynda get that list printed up, along with the backgrounds and current whereabouts of all ten suspects. Dewy! Huey!" The two Detectives quickly came over as Lynda typed quickly. "Okay, listen up. We're going to do this very nonchalantly. Now, we're going to -" 

"Hmm." 

"What's up, Lynda?" 

"Two of our suspects are Canadians. Steins and Cunningham are both residents of Toronto." 

"If they're Canadians," Dewy said, "then how come they worked on an American case?" 

"The same reason Fraser works on our cases," Lynda smiled wryly. "No one knows why. It just happens that way." 

"Constable, considering how two of our suspects are Canadian," Welsh spoke up, "Inspector Thatcher will need to notified. 

"Understood, Leftenant." 

"Now, everyone is going to be assigned one person," Welsh said as he was given a printed list of the ten suspects. "Ray, you and Huey will follow and keep and eye on Harry Doyle. Dewy and I will cover Agent Jasper. Stanley, follow Judge Stevens." 

"I'd like Lynda along with me, just so I can keep an eye on her." He ignored the evil eye Lynda was giving him. He knew he was treating her like a little kid, but he didn't care. 

"Fine. Fraser, I want you to work from your end with Thatcher and follow Stein and Cunningham. I'll assign other Detectives to follow the remaining suspects." Lynda quickly handed personal files of Doyle, Steins and Cunningham, and Jasper to Ray, Fraser, and Dewy, respectively. She handed Stevens' file to her father and the remaining files to Welsh. "Everyone move. You hear anything or see anything, give me a call." 

"Whoa, that may not be such a good idea, sir," Lynda stopped her superior. "We can't take the risk that someone maybe tapping our lines." 

"Oh, and you got a better way of contacting me, Lynda?" 

Lynda nodded as she held her hand out to her father. "Dad, give me the watch and earpiece I gave you earlier today." Stanley obliged, and after cleaning the earpiece with a disinfectant, Lynda handed it and the watch to Welsh. 

"What is this?" Welsh asked. 

"It's a surefire way we can contact each other without anyone else listening in," Lynda explained. "Just put the earpiece in your ear, put the watch on, and set the frequency to 13.9 megahertz. It's such a low toned frequency that no one can pick it up. Anyway, just press that red button if you want to talk, and speak into the watch. It's just like a miniature walkie talkie." 

"Where did you get that?" Dewy asked. 

"Made it. Don't ask, it's a long story." 

"Do you have anymore of these, Lynda?" Welsh asked. 

"No, sir." 

"Then how are the other Detectives going to be able to communicate?" 

"I'll take along my laptop and the satellite uplink with me. Just tell the other Detectives to use a touch-tone phone, and dial the star button, then one, three, nine, then the pound sign. The phone will automatically connect to my system and I can take the call. And it won't be able to be tapped either." Everyone looked at Lynda, clearly impressed. 

"Okay, everyone move out," Welsh instructed. "Be careful and stay alert. Also, call in at the top of each hour, just so we know everyone's alright. Go." 

Ray, Huey, Fraser, and Dief headed out of the Squad Room. Welsh and Dewy went to distribute the rest of the files. Lynda grabbed her stuff and headed out with her father.   
  


* * * *

"This is stupid," Stanley leaned against the steering wheel of his GTO and sighed. The car was parked on the curb opposite Stevens' house. Night had long since fallen. 

"What is?" Lynda asked as she typed on her laptop. 

"We've been here for nearly twelve hours, staring at the front part of Judge Stevens' house, and nothing." Lynda raised her eyebrows and smiled, but said nothing. A car pulled up in front of the house. Stanley sat up straighter. "Heads up." 

Lynda looked up as the driver got out with a pizza box and started up the walkway. Stanley rolled down his window and whistled, waving the guy over. "About time you showed up. It's been almost an hour." 

"Sorry, sir, but it is pretty busy tonight," the delivery boy said. 

Stanley handed the delivery boy some money, and took the pizza box. The delivery boy got back into his car and drove away. Lynda just shook her head and sighed. "What?" Stanley asked as he rolled up his window. 

"Just the fact that we're in the middle of a stakeout, and you order us pizza," Lynda said. 

"Well, you don't have to have any of it," Stanley said. "It's not like I'm twisting your arm or anything." 

"Ow, ow, ow," Lynda said, pretending her arm was being twisted behind her back. Stanley looked at her, then rolled his eyes. Lynda grinned. "Just give me a slice, okay?" 

Stanley opened the pizza box, filling the car with the scent of pepperoni, cheese, pineapple, and mushrooms. He handed her a slice without pineapple. Lynda held it delicately, making sure not to get grease on her equipment, and began eating. 

"You know," Lynda said as she chewed. "I don't understand how you can like pineapple. Yuck!" 

"You hate pineapple?" 

"Never liked it at all." 

"How come?" 

"Just never liked it." 

"You're a freak." 

"I'm your daughter." 

"Exactly. No daughter of mine would hate pineapple." Stanley frowned at Lynda, then abruptly started laughing. 

"Grow up," Lynda smiled. 

Stanley chewed on his slice. "You know, it seems like we spend more time together in situations like this than we do off the job." 

"Is there a problem with that?" 

"Naw, it's just weird, that's all." 

"Well, to tell you the turth, I'm glad it's just us two right now. I need to talk to you about something." 

"What's on your mind?" 

"I've been thinking about everything we've been through lately; Mom, my case with Ray, the FBI, being a Civilian Aid, and now this. To be honest, I like doing stuff like this: using my computer skills to help you and everyone down at Division get the bad guys, being on the brink of danger - except for being targeted for murder, of course." 

"Of course. So, what's your problem?" 

"I think I've found my calling in life. I want to be a police officer." 

Stanley just stared at his daughter. He smiled. "Really?" 

"Yeah. I think I'd make a great officer. I mean, I got the skills, I got the knowhow, and I already have a little bit of knowledge from working with you guys." 

"That is so cool. My daughter, the cop. Well, you have my support." 

Lynda smiled just as a beeping noise sounded from her laptop. Lynda typed a few keys, bringing up a highlighted name. "It's Ray." She pressed the 'talk' button on her watch. "Yes, Ray?" 

"Well, we got some news on Doyle," Ray's voice echoed in her ear. 

"And?" 

"He's dead. Jack and I found him in his bedroom. Killed the same way the others were." 

Lynda sighed and closed her eyes. "Anything else?" 

"Yeah, the interesting thing was that nothing was out of place or broken. There was no sign of a struggle or a forced entry. Lynda, you may be right on that theory of yours." 

"Thanks, Ray. Uh, listen, why don't you and Huey head on over to my place and wait for us, okay?" 

"How are things on your end?" 

"Nothing, yet, but we're going to be staying here for a few more hours." 

"Good luck." 

"Bye. And be careful." Lynda disconnected with Ray, and began typing on her computer. 

"What's up?" Stanley asked. 

"Scratch one Harry Doyle," Lynda said, highlighting Doyle's name in red on her laptop. 

"Aw, he's just a lawyer," Stanley scoffed. Lynda gave him a look. "Just kidding, Lynda. You know, a little lawyer joke?" Lynda seemed distracted. "Hello?" 

"Look," Lynda pointed to Stevens' house. 

Stanley looked over to see a shadow darting inside the brightly lit house. Suddenly, the front door opened, and Lynda and Stanley saw Judge Stevens' stumble outside. "Wait here," Stanley said as he slowly got out of the car. He pulled out his gun and cocked it as he slowly approached Stevens. 

Stevens suddenly fell face down on her front down. Stanley rushed over to her, but he already knew it was too late. He could see the bruises on her pale skin, even in the darkness. She was dead. Sighing, Stanley put his gun in his holster and turned away, just as Lynda came running up. "Lynda, I told you to stay in the car," he said sternly. 

"What is it?" Lynda asked. 

"Scratch one judge," Stanley answered grimly.   
  


* * * *

Two hours later Stanley and Lynda were entering Lynda's apartment. Ray and Huey were already inside, seated in the living room. 

"So?" Ray asked after the front door was locked securely. 

"Stevens' is dead," Lynda answered, placing her electronic equipment on the coffee table and flopping onto the unoccupied love seat. She stretched out and yawned. "Now, with Doyle included, that makes four out of our ten suspects dead." 

"Make that five," Welsh spoke up. Everyone turned to see Welsh and Dewy emerge from the kitchen. 

"When did you get here?" Stanley asked. 

"Just a few minutes ago," Dewy mumbled around a sandwich. "Lynda, hope you don't mind me grabbing something to eat." 

"It's okay," Lynda smiled before closing her eyes. 

"Very nice place you got here," Huey looked around. 

"Thanks," Lynda mumbled. 

"Just out of curiosity, Lynda," Welsh said as he sat in a nearby chair, "how do you pay for all of this? I know your salary alone can't cover all of this." 

"It doesn't," Lynda sat up. "I use the money I get from singing to help pay for this, plus everything else." 

"And you also have your inheritance," Stanley pointed out. 

"What inheritance?" Ray asked. 

A rapping at the front door caught everyone's attention. Lynda looked at her wall clock. Almost three in the morning. No one should be paying her a visit at this hour. The officers pulled their guns out as Lynda quietly made her way over to the door. She looked at her father, who nodded. 

Lynda took a deep breath. "Who is it?" 

"It's Constable Fraser." 

"And Inspector Thatcher." 

"And Constable Turnbull." 

Lynda opened the front door to see the three Canadians and Dief standing in front of her. Fraser and Turnbull had yet to change out of their red uniforms, and Thatcher was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. "Come on in," Lynda motioned them in as the American officers put their guns away. "Everyone else is here." 

"Find anything?" Welsh asked. 

"No," Fraser answered. "Both Cunningham and Steins are missing." 

"But they're not dead," Turnbull replied. "Not yet, anyway." 

"We talked with the Toronto police and the local RCMP units," Thatcher spoke up. "If they found anything remotely connected to this case, or if they locate Steins or Cunningham, then they said they'd call us." 

"Have you found anything?" Fraser asked. 

"Well, Stevens, and Doyle are dead," Stanley answered. 

"And also George Dye," Welsh finished. 

"What is it with Americans?" Thatcher murmured as she sat in a chair. 

Lynda left the living room, and went into the computer room. She came back a few minutes late with a dry-erase board, a map of the entire Chicago area mounted on cardboard, some tacks and a back stand. She set the stand up, put the board on it, and carefully propped the map up. 

"So, Lynda, how much is this inheritance?" Ray asked as Lynda stuck tacks into the map. 

"3.2 billion dollars." 

"You're kidding?! You could . . . retire now, and still live in this place." 

"I would if I had it, but I don't." 

"What do you mean?" Stanley asked. 

"I gave it all to charity," Lynda answered. 

"Wait, wait," Dewy spoke up. "You're telling us you just *gave* away 3.2 billion dollars?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why?" Stanley asked. 

"I have no use for it," Lynda answered. "I have a great home, a great job, great friends, a great father, a great car, and enough money to be comfortable. I've lived my entire life having too much money, and nothing to spend it on. So, I divided it up and gave it to the American Cancer Society, the Make a Wish Foundation, the local shelters -" 

"Woof!" 

"And even to the Humane Society and the SPCA, Dief," Lynda smiled. "All those charities needed that money more than I did. But Mom's inheritance says I still have a say in what the company does, so don't think I'm totally dependent on just my job and my singing. I do have a little nest egg with the stocks I invested. And besides, with everything I already have, I'm as rich as I'll ever need to be." 

"That's so beautiful," Turnbull sniffled. Everyone else rolled their eyes. 

"So, what's with the map?" Welsh asked 

"Here, let me show you." Lynda pointed to the thirteen colored tack sporadically placed on the map. "The five red ones are Allen, Grimes, Doyle, Stevens, and Dye. The remaining are the rest of the people on the list. Maybe there's a pattern to these killings." 

"What pattern?" Huey asked. 

"Yeah, is there something you're not telling us, Lynda?" Dewy said. 

"Come on, people, none of you watch police dramas?" 

"Lynda," Stanley smiled wryly, "we live those shows everyday, remember? In fact, to tell you the truth, I think some of the situations we get into would be perfect for a television show. Especially when Fraser is involved." 

"Yeah, right," Ray scoffed. "I can just see it now: a show about a Mountie who comes down to Chicago from the armpit of the frozen north with his deaf wolf to track the killers of his father, solves the crime, stays, and teams up with a couple of Detectives." 

"Yeah, no one in their right mind would watch anything as silly as that," Huey replied. 

"Anyway," Lynda cleared her throat, "all I'm saying is that sometimes, people like to take credit for the work they do. There's no reason to think that criminals don't do the same thing." 

"She's got a point," Ray nodded. "When I was undercover, the Iguana Family had a habit of leaving a small iguana statue at every place we went to. It's was like our calling card." 

"Exactly," Lynda pounded her hand on her coffee table. "Now, isn't it possible that whoever's targeting all these people could be using a pattern?" 

"And what type of pattern would we be talking about, Lynda?" 

"Well, Lieutenant, I'm thinking something like what time the murders took place, the way the victims were killed, or a picture on the map, or something." 

"Picture on the map?" Fraser asked. 

"You know, connecting the dots," Lynda explained. "Maybe we can tell who's going to be the next one to die by figuring out a pattern in who was killed and where." 

"I see," Thatcher rolled her eyes. 

"Okay, fine, I'll just show you." Lynda took a pencil and began to connect the dots on the map, starting with Allen, Grimes, then the latest three. All that came out was a bunch of squiggly connected lines. 

"Oh, yeah, there's a real pattern," Dewy said. 

Lynda glared at the Detective. "And I suppose you could do better?" 

"Lynda, he didn't mean it that way," Fraser said gently. "It was a good idea." 

Lynda sighed wearily. "Yeah, I guess I *have* been watching too much tv. So, now what?" 

"I suggest we all get some rest," Welsh replied. "It's almost three-thirty." 

Everyone started to get up to leave, but Lynda stopped them. "Wait. It's pretty late. Everyone is more than willing to stay here until at least the sun comes up." 

"Can you accommodate us all?" Fraser asked. 

"Yeah," Lynda answered. "The daybeds in the guest rooms can sleep two people each, Inspector Thatcher can share my bed, it's large enough, and I guess the rest can sleep out here. I'll provide breakfast later." 

"I'm staying with you, Lynda." 

"But, Dad -" 

"I'll sleep on the floor, okay? I'm just not going to let you out of my sight." 

Lynda was too tired to argue and agreed. Dewy and Huey shared the computer room, Welsh and Ray took the library, Turnbull, Fraser, and Dief stayed in the living room, and Thatcher and Lynda shared Lynda's bed, while Stanley slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. Soon, the apartment was quiet and still.   
  


* * * *

Lynda tossed and turned, her eyes closed, trying to sleep, but it was to no avail. It wasn't that she hadn't changed out of her Civilian aid uniform or Fraser's superior sleeping soundly beside her, nor was it the fact that her father was curled up in a sleeping bag, snoring softly. It was that nagging thought about who the next victim was going to be. She sighed as she quietly made her way out of her bedroom, careful not to step on her father, and shuffled into the hallway. 

She came into the living room and was surprised to see Ray staring at the map. He was busy scribbling lines with the pencil, then erasing them. She glanced at the couch and love seat to see Fraser and Turnbull fast asleep. Dief was sleeping underneath her coffee table. He perked his head when Lynda entered the room, but she motioned for him to go back to sleep. Quietly, she walked up behind Ray. 

"What are you doing?" she whispered. 

"Couldn't sleep," he answered softly. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about that pattern idea of yours. I think you're on to something. So, I've been spending the past thirty minutes trying to find out what the pattern might be." 

"Anything?" 

"Nothing. I've thought of every single pattern known to man that might be even remotely connected to this case, and nothing." 

"Well, look, I may have been wrong, Ray. As much as I hate to say it, but it does happen occasionally." 

"I just have this hunch, you know." 

"You have hunches, too?" 

"Yep." He stared at the map, then threw the pencil down disgustedly. "I give up." 

"Don't do that, Ray. You know, ever since I met Fraser, I've always found it helpful to look at things from his point of view. About ninety-nine percent of the time, I find out that the most obvious thing is staring me straight in the face." 

Ray sighed before he turned back and faced the map. He stared closely at the dots sporadically placed. He knitted his eyebrows as he stared closely. Suddenly, he smiled. "Lynda, I think I got something." He picked up the pencil and began scribbling again. By the time he was done, he had connected the dots to form three letters: Q-O-E. 

"Q-O-E?" Lynda asked. "What's that mean?" 

"I don't know. It just . . . it just came to me. But I think this is the pattern." 

"Great job." Lynda's smiled faded as she stared at the letters. "Uh oh." 

"What?" 

"Ray, if this is the real pattern, the next target is your house." 

Ray's face paled. Then, without warning, he bolted out of her apartment. 

"Ray!" she hissed as she ran after him. She stopped suddenly, and remembered to grab her wristwatch and earpiece from the coffee table, and her keys from the key rack before she ran after him. By the time she got down to her car, Ray's Riv had already pulled away from the curb and peeled down the street. Lynda started the engine to her '57 Chevy and sped after him. 

It was only four-thirty in the morning, but Lynda felt sure she was going to get pulled over, considering all the traffic laws she broke while trying to keep up with the Riv. She ran through three red lights, two stop signs, missed hitting a score of pedestrians, and nearly clipped a van while speeding down Michigan Avenue. 

The Riv was about fifty feet in front of her as it crossed a set of railroad tracks. Just before Lynda could cross, the warning lights and bells started going off, signaling an oncoming train. Lynda slammed on the brakes, lurching the car to a complete stop in front of the fast- moving train. 

She pounded her hands on the steering wheel in frustration. While waiting for the train to pass, Lynda reached over and grabbed her communication device. She put the watch on, then noticed the earpiece was gone. She searched, but it was nowhere to be found. She reached for her cell phone, intending to call her apartment and let everyone know what was going on. But after dialing the number, all she heard was a bunch of static. 

"That's just great," she said sarcastically. Just then, the train completely passed by Lynda quickly hung up and sped on toward Ray's house.   
  


* * * * 

Stanley yawned and stretched as he woke up. He hated sleeping on the ground. It was hard, it was cold . . . it was hard. He rubbed his back, trying to massage the muscles as he stood up. The Ice Queen was still sleeping softly, curled up in a little ball, hugging a pillow like a teddy bear. Stanley tried not to laugh. Oh, if Fraser could only see this, he thought. Lynda's side was empty, so he shuffled into the kitchen as the Mounties were waking up. "Lynda?" 

"Good morning, Stan," Fraser yawned. 

"Hey, Frase," Stanley nodded. "Have you seen Lynda?" 

"No." 

"Lynda!" Stanley's voice echoed through the apartment. The only replies came from the other officers as they came into the living room. 

"Detective, if you do that again . . ." Welsh rubbed the back of his head. 

"Yeah, what's the big deal?" Dewy asked annoyed. 

"Has anyone seen Lynda?" 

Everyone shook their head. Dief gave a short woof. Fraser looked at him. "Are you sure, Dief?" he asked. 

"What's up?" Huey asked. 

"Dief said that about twenty minutes ago, Ray and Lynda bolted out of the apartment after looking at the map." 

"What?!" Stanley hurried over to the map. He stared at the letters Ray drew. "Hey, look, Lynda was right. There is a pattern. Q-O-C." 

"What does it mean?" Welsh asked. 

"If this is correct, then Lynda and Detective Vecchio are Detective Vecchio's house," Turnbull peered closely at the map. 

Stanley bolted out of the apartment. Fraser, Dief, Welsh, and the Duck Boys followed. As Fraser ran out, he heard a small crunching sound. He bent over and picked up a small piece of crushed plastic. It was Lynda's earpiece. He put it in the pocket of his tunic and hurried after his friend.   
  


* * * *

Lynda screeched her Chevy to a halt behind Ray's car in the driveway. She got out and made her way up the walk to the porch. The front door was slightly ajar, so Lynda went in. She looked around the house. "Ray!" There was silence. 

She walked slowly into the living room, and saw Ray, Francesca, and Ma Vecchio sitting in the furniture. "Ray, why didn't you wait for me?" 

"Lynda, get -" a gun clicked, interrupting him. "-out." 

Lynda stood straighter. The sound had come from right behind her. She took a deep breath as she lifted her hands slowly. Then, she quickly pivoted around and gave a spinning back kick to her would-be assailant. Her foot made contact with the gun, knocking it out of the person's hand. Lynda, then delivered a roundhouse to the attacker's jaw, knocking him to the floor. 

Ray stood up. "Wow." 

"Looks like I got here just in time," Lynda said breathlessly. "Everyone okay?" 

"Yeah, we're fine," Ray answered. "Frannie, take Ma into the kitchen." Frannie nodded and obeyed silently. Ray looked at Lynda, eyebrows raised. "Think you could teach me that?" 

"Sure," Lynda smiled. 

The two friends went over to the attacker just a two popping sounds fired. Lynda and Ray both felt pain in their shoulders and looked down. Feathered darts were sticking out of their clothing. Suddenly, they felt dizzy and toppled to the floor. Two seconds later, everything went black.   
  


* * * *

Stanley sped through the city in his GTO, Fraser next to his side and Dief in the back. Welsh, Dewy, and Huey were close behind. Thatcher and Turnbull remained at Lynda's apartment in case Lynda or Ray called. Stanley swerved around a slow-moving jeep and ran a stop sign, nearly causing an accident. Fraser just sat, trying hard not to tell his friend that he had just run the stop sign. 

About ten minutes later, Stanley's car pulled up to the curb at 2926 North Octavia Avenue. Both Ray and Lynda's cars were in the driveway. All three occupants got out and raced up the walk as the other three occupants followed. Everyone burst into the house. 

"Lynda!" Stanley called loudly. 

"Ray!" Fraser shouted. 

"Fraser!" Francesca shouted from the kitchen. Stanley and Fraser ran to the kitchen to see 

both Francesca and Ma Vecchio sitting at the kitchen table. They were white as sheets. 

"What happened?" Stanley asked. 

"They took my Raimundo," Ma said tearfully. "And they took Lynda." 

"Who did?" Fraser asked gently. 

"Masked people," Francesca answered, shaking slightly. "Five of them. We didn't see 

their faces." 

"You two okay?" Stanley asked. 

"Yeah," the young Italian woman nodded. 

"Benito," Ma touched Fraser's tunic lightly, "please bring my Raimundo back to me." 

"I will. I promise." Fraser stood next to Stanley as Huey and Dewy helped the Vecchios 

into the living room. Welsh joined the partners. 

"Now what?" Stanley asked. 

"We'll need to get back to Lynda's apartment," Fraser answered. "Lynda may be trying 

to contact us." 

"Through what, Fraser, smoke signals?" 

"Don't be silly, Stan. No, through that device she showed us yesterday," 

"Look, Fraser, she's not wearing it," Stanley explained as patiently as he could. "I saw 

her take off that device of hers and put it on the coffee table." 

"But I'm pretty sure she's wearing it now. At least the watch." 

"And how do you know this, Constable." 

"This." Fraser reached into his trousers and pulled out the crushed earpiece. "Dief said 

that both Ray and Lynda bolted out of the apartment. By the fact that Lynda's car is parked behind Ray's in the driveway, I'm guessing that she probably left in a hurry, went back and retrieved the device and her car keys, and ran after Ray. She might not have known she dropped the earpiece." 

"But even if she is wearing it, how will she be able to reach us?" Welsh asked. "She may 

not try if she doesn't have the earpiece." 

"We'll just have to assume that she is wearing the watch," the Mountie replied. "And if 

she is, then we don't have to wait for her to contact us. We can track her down." 

"I get it," Stanley nodded. "We can use that tracking-thingy she put in the device." 

"Precisely," Fraser smiled. "Now, all we have to do is learn how to operate that 

system of hers." 

"I hate computers," Stanley mumbled. 

"I'll do it," Fraser offered. "It shouldn't be that hard." 

Stanley raised his eyebrows as the trio headed out of the kitchen.   
  


* * * *

Lynda groggily opened her eyes. She tried to sit up but found her hands and legs to be 

bound. She looked to her left and saw Ray sitting beside her. He was bound as well. 

"You okay?" he asked. 

"Fine. You?" 

"I'm be bound in a strange room after being drugged," Ray answered. "How do you 

think I am?" 

Lynda frowned as she rolled around and was finally able to sit up. "Any ideas where we 

are?" The room - which was solid concrete, with no windows and only one door - offered no clues. 

"Maybe we can help." 

Ray and Lynda looked up to see two familiar figures enter through the single door. They 

both recognized them immediately. 

"William Cunningham and Ginger Steins," Ray sneered. "So, it was you two, huh?" 

The brunette flipped her hair over her shoulders and chuckled. "So, how did you figure 

out the pattern? Did your Mountie friend help you? Or was it Little Lynda, the computer whiz?" 

"He did it on his own," Lynda frowned. "Why are you doing this?" 

"Because your friend here incarcerated three of our friends awhile back," Cunningham 

sneered. "Thanks to Vecchio, Laurie, McGill, and Brock will be spending their lives in concrete cells. It's been causing them, as well as us, anxiety. We don't take anxiety too well." 

"Then take some Mylanta," Ray retorted. "I find it to be extremely helpful." 

Cunningham knelt beside Ray, then gave him a swift punch in the face. Lynda grimaced as 

Ray's cheek began to bruise. 

"I'd watch your mouth, Detective," the tall man growled. 

"Besides," Steins continued, "the Iguana Family has been a thorn in our side for quite some time, and we had been thinking of some way to destroy them. Needless to say, we were quite shocked to find out the Armando Langostini was none other than Vecchio. When the opportunity came up to find a way to get vital information, we jumped at the chance. With the information that was supplied to the FBI and ATF, courtesy of Vecchio, we now will be able to choke the Iguana Family." 

"But the entire family was taken in after I the case was closed," Ray protested. 

"Not all of them," Cunningham said. "A few managed to get away before the cops showed up." 

"I have a question," Lynda sat up straighter. "Just what does Q-O-C stand for?" 

"Queen Of England," Steins answered. "We are loyal to our country, and will do anything 

to protect her interests, including getting rid of those who would do us harm, like all those associated with the case we worked on a few months back." 

"And how do you think I'm going to harm you?" Lynda asked. 

"You have your superb computer skills, and you work for the police. Sooner or later, you 

would become a threat, especially with the disk you possess." 

"How did you know about that?" Lynda looked at the captors in disbelief. 

"You're step-father is not the quiet type," Cunningham spoke up. "Word got out to us 

about what that disk was, and how you managed to prevent the FBI from getting it. We thought you might be a valuable asset to our little family. What do you say?" 

"So, basically, you're asking me to give up my integrity, my job, and my life, come work 

for you, and let you have all my trade secrets so you can basically control any country in the world?" Lynda asked. 

"Yeah," Cunningham nodded. "I guarantee you will be greatly rewarded." 

Lynda chuckled. "How stupid do you think I am? We all know that as soon as I hand 

over everything, you're going to kill me." 

"We're going to kill you anyway," Steins retorted. "Why not make it easy on yourself." 

"Why don't you go take a long walk off a short pier?" Lynda narrowed her eyes. 

Steins' face turned red as she slapped Lynda. Lynda's cheek stung as she fought back 

tears. Steins and Cunningham left the room, closing the door behind them. 

"You okay?" Ray asked. 

"Yeah," Lynda answered. 

"So, what's with this disk?" 

"From what I gather, my mother created a virus that could break encryption codes of 

defense secrets. That's why she was killed. What about you?" 

"Me?" 

"Yeah. Who do Walter and Ginger work for?" 

"Since they're friends with Laurie, McGill, and Brock, they're probably part of the 

Canadian Mob." 

"Canada has a mob?" 

"It's unbelievable, but true." 

"What, they threaten to lick mud off your boots if you don't pay them or something?" 

Ray chuckled. "No. Seriously, they're pretty dangerous. Ran into them once and they 

nearly killed me and Fraser, not to mention I was forced to blow up my car." 

"Ow." Lynda grimaced. She still hadn't mentioned the fact that his current car had in fact 

been at the bottom of Lake Michigan for five months, nor was she going to. "So, how did you manage to come across the Canadian mob . . . wait, forget I asked. When Fraser's involved, I know better than to ask." 

"You're a quick learner," Ray smiled. He tugged at his binds. "And we're both stuck 

here with no way out." 

"Not quite," Lynda answered. She brushed the watch with the tips of her fingers. "I'm 

wearing my watch." 

"Your point?" 

"If I can turn it on, then maybe Dad and Fraser can find us." 

"Of course, that tracking device, right?" Lynda nodded, then struggled as she tried to 

press the red button on her watch. Ray was getting impatient. 

"Lynda, turn your back to me, okay?" 

Lynda wiggled until she and Ray were back to back. Ray ran his fingers along Lynda's 

wrist until he was able to press to red button on her watch. 

"Good going, Ray," Lynda smiled. She raised her voice slightly. "Hey, guys, I don't 

know if you can hear us or not, but Ray and I are being held in some kind of room. Steins and Cunningham are behind the murders. They're part of the Canadian Mob. I don't know what time it is or where we are. We could be in Chicago, another part of the state, another state, or even in Canada for all I know. Don't worry, we're both safe for the time being, but it would be appreciated if you could find us as soon as you can. Use the tracking device. Fraser, it's very easy to learn, just a few quick mouse clicks. I'll leave my watch on so you can pick up the signal. Over." 

"'It would be appreciated?'" Ray asked. "You have definitely been hanging around Fraser 

too long." Ray sighed. "So, now what?" 

"We wait." 

"For what? Them to kill us?" 

"Unless you have a better idea? Our hands and feet are tied together, remember?" 

"Hold still." Ray grabbed at Lynda's binds with his fingers and began to unknot them. It 

took him almost ten minutes, but he managed to loosen them enough so Lynda could get her hands free. 

"Where did you learn that?" Lynda asked as she untied Ray's hands. 

"Fraser." 

"And you think I hang out with him too much?" Lynda smiled as she untied her feet. She quickly got up and stretched. Ray soon joined her. "So, now what?" 

"Unless you want to stay here, then let's go," Ray answered as he walked over to the 

door. He jiggled the knob, but it was locked. He looked out the tiny window and saw two men standing guard. "Great." 

"What?" 

"Laurel and Hardy are outside," Ray grumbled. "Probably packing barrettas." 

"So, what do we do?" 

"I don't know."   
  


* * * *

Everyone returned to Lynda's apartment, including Mrs. Vecchio and Francesca. While Turnbull and Thatcher sat with the Vecchios, the other officers were busy trying to set up Lynda's system. While Fraser typed on Lynda's laptop, everyone else looked on. 

"Anything, Constable?" Welsh asked. 

"I think so, Leftenant," Fraser answered. "Just a few more key strokes . . ." The screen 

suddenly brought up a map of Chicago and the surrounding counties. "Okay, now just -" He was interrupted by Lynda's voice as it transmitted her message. 

" . . . and I are being held in some kind of room. Steins and Cunningham are behind the murders. They're part of the Canadian Mob. I don't know what time it is or where we are. We could be in Chicago, another part of the state, another state, or even in Canada for all I know. Don't worry, we're both safe for the time being, but it would be appreciated if you could find us as soon as you can. Use the tracking device. Fraser, it's very easy to learn, just a few quick mouse clicks. I'll leave my watch on so you can pick up the signal. Over." 

"She's alive," Stanley breathed a sigh of relief. "Think you can find her?" 

"I think so," the Mountie answered. He quickly ran his fingers over the keys. "I 

remember what Lynda typed in yesterday when she demonstrated how to use the tracking device at Division." A few seconds later, a faint dot began flashing on the north end of the screen. 

Fraser raised his eyebrows. "If this information is correct, then Ray and Lynda are both in Gary, Indiana." 

"What are they doing there?" Dewy asked. 

"Since Lynda mentioned Steins and Cunningham work for the Canadian Mob," Fraser 

explained, "I'm guessing they're taking Ray and Lynda to Toronto to rendevous with other mobsters." 

"It's only about thirty minutes to Gary from here," Stanley said as he grabbed his sports 

jacket off Lynda's coat racket. 

"We'll need to hurry," Welsh said as he picked up the receiver of Lynda's phone and 

dialed a number. "Stanley, you and Fraser get moving. Get to Gary as fast as you can." Fraser gathered up Lynda's computer and equipment. "Huey, Dewy, go with them." The officers nodded and got their coats from the computer room. 

"What are you doing?" Stanley asked Welsh. 

"I'm calling the Gary Police. They can get a head start on finding Ray and Lynda. I'll 

join you when I get done." He began talking into the phone as Fraser, Stanley, Dief, and the Duck Boys left Lynda's apartment.   
  


* * * *

Lynda looked around the small room, thinking. Finally, she smiled slyly. "I think I have an idea." 

"What?" Ray asked. 

"How big are, uh . . . 'Laurel' and 'Hardy'?" 

"Not too much bigger than me. My size, my build . . . why?" He looked warily at Lynda. 

"Start acting crazy." 

"What?!" 

"Shhh. Just do it." 

"May I ask why?" 

"If we both start acting crazy, then they'll come in and try to stop us. We can overpower 

them, and steal their weapons, then escape." 

"You know something, Lynda, you're not going to have to act crazy. You are crazy, and 

so is this plan of yours. Let me run it by you again: we start acting like lunatics, they come in and shoot us to death with automatic weapons. Any part I left out?" 

"They won't do that, Ray. We have the advantage. They won't kill me because of the 

information they want from me." 

"And what about me? I gave them all the information they wanted during the case, 

remember?" 

"Don't you trust me?" 

"Not when you start talking like Fraser, no." 

"Come on, Ray. You know this is our only shot at getting away." 

Ray opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as he stared at Lynda. She gave him a 

pathetic pouting look. He sighed and closed his eyes. "I know I'm going to regret this, as I always end up doing," he finally said, "but fine." Lynda smiled. "So, what do we do?" 

"Just start acting crazy. Run around in circles, flailing your arms, shout, and try drooling 

a little. You know, just act like you do at Division." 

"Har, har. And what about you?" 

"I'll do my part. Now, start acting." 

"If we get out of this alive, and you tell anyone, I'm going to kill you myself." 

"I won't tell." 

Ray sighed on last time before he began running around in circles, shouting, "It's the end 

of the world! It's the end of the world!" 

Lynda could hardly contain herself as she watched Ray Vecchio running around in his 

Armani suit, shouting and drooling. But she quickly regained her composure and calmly sat down in the midst of Ray's running and began playing with the discarded binds, rocking and humming softly. 

A few seconds later, the door to the room opened and 'Laurel' and Hardy walked in, 

shutting the door behind them. They didn't know what to make of the two prisoners. 

"What the . . .?" 'Laurel' asked. He approached Ray cautiously. Ray was oblivious to 

him as he kept running around. 

'Hardy' knelt beside Lynda. Lynda looked up and gave a toothy smile. "Hewwo," she said in a high-pitched baby voice. "I got pwtty wope. Want some?" 

"Uh, no thanks," 'Hardy' answered, eyebrows raised at 'Laurel'. 'Laurel' shrugged his 

shoulders. 

Lynda's chin trembled as tears filled her eyes, then slowly ran down her cheeks. She 

calmly put down the rope, then swiftly punched 'Hardy' square in the face, knocking him out cold. Before 'Laurel' could react, Ray gave him a right hook to the jaw, knocking him unconscious as well. 

"Not bad," Ray said as Lynda finished tying up the two unconscious mobsters. He wiped 

drool from his lip. 

"Thanks." Lynda wiped the tears from her cheeks. 

"Those aren't real tears, are they?" 

"No, I just happen to be a terrific actress. Now let's see if they have any guns." 

Ray searched the pocket's of their enemies, and pulled two small pistols from their pockets. He handed one to Lynda. "Just be careful, okay?" 

Lynda nodded, gripping the gun as carefully as she could. She followed Ray to the door and stood behind him as he slowly opened it and looked around. He gripped his gun tighter and motioned for Lynda to follow him. Together, they walked carefully down a narrow hallway, until they came to another door. Ray and Lynda put their ears to it and could make out words of conversation on the other side. 

"So, what do you want to do?" Lynda asked. 

"I'll take them," Ray answered. "You get out of here, and get some help." 

"But what if you get into trouble?" 

"I won't. Now go." 

"Be careful." 

"You too." 

Lynda ran down the hallway with her gun, leaving Ray alone at the door. Taking a deep breath, he kicked in the door and aimed his gun at everyone. "Okay, everyone freeze! You move, I shoot. Any questions?" Both occupants, Steins and another man, raised their hands slowly. Ray noticed a phone on the table the two were sitting at. "Okay, on your feet. Now!" Both got up from the table. 

Ray walked over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and dialed 9-1-1, his gun 

still aimed at the two mobsters. 

"I would put that gun down if I were you," Steins growled. 

"Why?" Ray asked. 

"9-1-1, do you have an emergency?" the dispatcher said. 

"Because if you don't then your young friend will die." 

Ray tuned around to see Cunningham standing in the doorway. He had Lynda's gun and was pointing it straight at Lynda's head. He slowly hung up the phone. 

"Sorry, Ray," Lynda said. 

"It's okay, Lynda." 

"How touching," Cunningham sneered. "Too bad you two won't have a happy ending." 

He pulled the trigger on Lynda's gun. 

Ray saw it coming, even before Cunningham pulled the trigger. Without a moments's 

hesitation, he fired one shot at Cunningham, knocking him to the floor. Before anyone could react, he aimed his gun back at Steins and the other man. But he didn't fire. Instead, he swiftly punched the man. He fell to the ground like an old sack of potatoes. Ray glared at Steins. 

"You wouldn't hit a lady," she smiled weakly. "Would you?" 

Ray smiled. "No, I wouldn't hit a lady." He hit her square in the jaw, knocking her on 

top of the other man. "But then again, you ain't no lady." 

He turned to face Lynda, and saw her in a crumpled heap next to Cunningham. Quick as a 

flash, he was at her side. He knelt beside her as she slowly sat up. "You okay?" 

"My head hurts," she mumbled as she rubbed the side of her head. She cried out in pain 

as her hand brushed her ear. She looked at her hand. It was covered in blood. "You shot me. My ear's gone." 

"Your ear is not gone, Lynda. I just grazed it." 

"You still shot me." 

"Look, it was either your ear or your entire head. You pick." 

"I can't believe you shot me." Lynda stood up and walked out of the room. Ray sighed, 

and followed close behind her.   
  


* * * *

"If anything's happened to her . . ." Stanley said as he sped through Gary. 

"I'm sure Lynda's fine," Fraser said as he stared at Lynda's computer screen. "Turn right 

here." Stanley followed Fraser's direction as they sped toward the outskirts. Fraser looked up. "There it is. Up ahead." 

Stanley drove for another hundred feet, then stopped his car in front of an old warehouse. 

He and Fraser got out of the car, and looked around. "Are you sure, Fraser?" 

"Quite sure. This is -" The Mountie was interrupted by a commotion coming from the 

warehouse. The two officers were surprised to see Ray and Lynda come out the front entrance, arguing. They ran up to them as Huey and Dewy pulled up beside Stanley's GTO. 

"Lynda!" Stanley said as he rushed to his daughter and hugged her. "You okay?" 

"No, Ray shot my ear off," she frowned as she clutched her ear. 

Stanley noticed the blood on her hand, then glared at Ray. "You shot my daughter?" 

"I didn't shoot her ear off," Ray frowned. 

"Let me see," Fraser offered. Lynda removed her hand and allowed Fraser to examine 

her. After a few moments, Fraser smiled. "Lynda, your ear in intact. Ray's bullet just grazed it slightly. It still need to be properly bandaged, though." 

"It still hurts," Lynda grumbled. "Now I know how Evander Holyfield must have felt 

after being in the ring with Tyson." 

"Look, Lynda, I'm sorry, okay?" Ray said, looking as sincere as he could. "I tried not to hit you, but everything happened so fast. I just didn't want Cunningham to kill you. I wasn't intentionally trying to hit you." 

Lynda's face softened. "I know, Ray. I'm sorry I got mad." 

"Hey, you know what, Benny?" 

"What, Ray?" 

"Now you can't say you're my only friend that I've shot." 

"I don't think that's something that Lynda wants to be a part of," Fraser said gently. 

"I know, Fraser, it was just a -" 

"Look, I don't mean to sound rude or anything," Lynda interrupted, "but my ear is really 

hurting. Is there anyway I can get some medical attention?" 

"Come on, Lynda," Stanley put an arm around Lynda's shoulder. "Let's wait for the 

ambulance at my car." Together, they walked to Stanley's GTO and waited with Dief.   
  


* * * *

"So, now what?" Ray asked as he leaned against Stanley's GTO. Lynda \- who finally got her ear bandaged - was sitting in the passenger side, her feet dangling out. Dief licked her from behind her seat. Stanley and Fraser were standing nearby. 

"What do you mean?" Fraser asked. 

"Steins and Cunningham said that the police didn't pick up the entire Iguana Family," Ray 

answered. "What if they find out that Armando Langostini is really dead, and I was pretending to be him?" 

"They won't," someone else spoke up. Everyone turned to see Derek approaching them. 

"What are you doing here?" Stanley frowned. 

"Two of my friends and co-workers were killed, remember?" Derek said. "I wanted those 

people just as much as you did." 

"How did you know where to find us?" Lynda asked. 

"When I heard that your father and Detective Vecchio had been pulled from the case," 

Derek explained, "I knew you would still work on it, so I talked Jasper into putting me on the case. I did a little digging, and was going to come over to your place to see if I could talk to you. I heard you and Ray had gotten taken, so I stayed in my car and followed your father and Constable Fraser when they left." 

"What's going to happen to Steins and Cunningham now?" Fraser asked. 

"With the list of charges that'll be brought up against them," Derek answered, "they'll 

never see the outside of a prison wall." He eyed Lynda's head. "You okay?" 

"She's fine," Stanley answered. 

"Well, I guess I'll see you later," Derek gave a quick smile before leaving to join the other 

FBI agents that were loading Steins and Cunningham into a waiting car. 

"Yeah," Lynda replied. She sighed. "So, anyone up for getting back home? I don't 

know about you three, but I need to take a nice hot shower." 

"No kidding," Ray wrinkled his nose. "You smell like -" 

"Ray, before you open your mouth, remember what they say about furry in a woman's 

scorn," Lynda warned him slightly. 

"- like a person who hasn't taken a hot shower," Ray finished. Lynda smiled. 

"So, is everyone in one piece?" Welsh asked as he and Huey and Dewy walked up to the four. "Lynda, how's your ear?" 

"Fine, sir. No lasting damage." 

"You know," Huey said, "seeing Lynda's head bandaged that way reminds me of when 

Stanley had his ear bitten by Adolph Kuzma." 

"Could we not mention that?" Stanley asked wearily. 

"What happened?" 

"Adolph Kuzma bit your father's ear off," Huey said. 

"Ouch," Lynda grimaced. 

"Well, you know what they say," Dewy spoke up. "'Like father, like daughter'." 

"Badoom bah!" Huey imitated a rimshot. 

"Whatever," Lynda rolled her eyes. "I just want to get back to Chicago, get my car, go 

back to my apartment, take a nice hot shower, then crawl under my sheets and die for the rest of the day." 

"Lynda, if you want me to, I'll drive your car back over," Ray offered. "It's the least I 

could do for hitting your ear." 

"Sorry, Ray, but we're talking about a classic, mint condition, 1957 cherry red Chevy 

Convertible. The only way I'd let you drive my car is if you let me drive yours." 

"Not in your lifetime," Ray answered quickly. 

"Oh, but don't worry, Ray. I have something in mind for you to do. And when I think 

of it, I'll let you know. Now, let's go home." She settled in her seat. 

"We'll see you back there," Welsh said before leaving with Huey and Dewy. 

Stanley, Ray, and Fraser got into Stanley's GTO and drove away from the warehouse. As they drove Nothwest on US-12, not much was said. Lynda stared out her window, watching the scenery. Suddenly, she sighed. "I need a vacation," she murmured. 

"What?" Stanley asked as he drove. 

"I need a vacation," she said louder as she sat straighter in her chair. "I mean, I've been 

working as a Civilian Aid for over four months. You know what I've been through since I met you guys?" 

"Two incidences with your step-father, one incident with Logan, your memory loss, and 

this," Fraser answered. 

"Don't forget about my case," Ray pointed out. 

"Precisely." Lynda rubbed her head. "I want to get away. I just want to take some time 

off and go a little vacation." 

"Where would you go?" Stanley asked. 

"Someplace quiet, with no distractions." 

"That takes away about every tourist sight in the world," Ray rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah, well, it was just a thought." Lynda yawned and stretched her arms. She lay her 

head back and closed her eyes. "What would you guys suggest going?" 

"Disney World," Ray said. 

"Hawaii," Stanley replied. 

"The Yukon," Fraser answered. 

"Fraser, I don't think Lynda would want to go to the armpit of the frozen north," Ray 

retorted. 

"Why not, Ray? It's perfectly quiet, tranquil -" 

"Cold, mounds of snow everywhere." 

Lynda opened her eyes and looked wryly at her father. He smiled back down at her. 

Lynda yawned one last time, then closed her eyes as Ray and Fraser debated the different aspects of the Yukon. She listened. The Yukon. Maybe that won't be such a bad idea, she thought. She smiled, then droned out all noises as she fell asleep.   
  


THE END 


End file.
